


Tied With A Little Bow

by graced



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fluff, M/M, also Harry has many pets, also this was supposed to be a We Bought A Zoo AU, alsooo louis is sort of obsessed with Pride and Prejudice, and a bit of smut shh, because who could resist that, but harry has a lot of pets i promise, but it sort of wandered, but that's random and doesn't really matter, jaw-dropping amounts of fluff, there's also the barman who's named Jeff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 10:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2728994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graced/pseuds/graced
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: WE BOUGHT A ZOO AU HARRY BUYS A ZOO HARRY OWNS A ZOO? HARRY LOVES ANIMALS?????? HE JUST LOVES THEM. or maybe he just owns a lot of animals. idk. harry with animals pls. bunny rabbits. put a bunny in harry's arms that is literally the only reason i came up with this prompt. bunny. </p><p> </p><p>my other dumb summary: Harry likes animals and pillows and kissing Louis. Louis likes writing and Pride & Prejudice and kissing Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tied With A Little Bow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [icedwaters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedwaters/gifts).



> So! This is my first full-length(ish) fic as well as my first H/L fic! I'm sorry if it's a bit wonky but there was a request for a bunny in Harry's arms, so hopefully that makes up for it. Also, the timeline's a little hole-y (and now I'm laughing at myself because of the silly Christmas pun) because I decided to jump around to different points in their relationship. I hope you enjoy it!

It’s not like Louis _wants_ to be at the subway this early in the morning. It’s just difficult not to take the only other transportation option when his car won’t start. And of course, it's also ridiculously freezing, seeing as the second week in October apparently has a mind of its own and has decided to act like the third week of December. Louis reluctantly pulls his hand out of his warm pocket to check the weather on his phone. He figures that if he wants to complain he may as well at least complain accurately, with the exact temperature and everything.

 

He unlocks his phone, looking down at the screen, whose brightness is lowered to almost the minimum to save his battery, as he knows he can’t charge it at work. _Brilliant. Fucking brilliant_. Just as he taps the weather app (for the second time, of course; it didn’t register the first time because his thumbs were too cold), he feels something crash into his chest. A very large something. A giant wall of plaid shirt material is all he sees as he stumbles backwards a few steps, phone all but forgotten as he tries to keep his balance. There's a soft grunt, then a large, warm hand on the small of his back, holding onto him firmly. When he finally regains his balance, he looks up and is confronted with two very green eyes and a mass of long, rather curly hair that hangs down to the shoulders of the man in front of him in little sections of ringlets. The owner of these features is also sporting two deep dimples and a smile that's most likely brighter than the screen of Louis’ phone.

 

“’M so sorry,” says the wall of plaid in a voice that's deep and rather slow and whisks any form of witty comeback from Louis’ brain, “are you alright?”

 

“I'm--four.”

 

“Sorry?” The dimples deepen ever so slightly and Plaid-Man (as Louis has taken to calling him mentally in the five seconds since he’s seen the man’s face) tilts his head in a completely endearing gesture. Louis wonders if the universe will ever give him a rest.

 

“I, erm, the temperature,” he says in what he hopes to be an even slightly reasonable tone but what sounds to him to be about an octave too high,“that’s, er, that’s why I bumped into you, I was looking at the weather. It’s four degrees Celsius,” he says, getting frustrated with himself. _Why's he telling this to a right stranger?_

 

“Oh. Right,” says Plaid-Man, smiling down at him. Louis looks down awkwardly at his feet, which causes him to notice a pet carrier at the man’s feet. The man must see his curious glance at it, too, because the next thing he says is, “Oh, right. This is Flour. As in, like, the stuff made out of wheat, not, you know, the plant with the petals."

 

A closer look into the carrier reveals a very large bunny with a glossy brown coat that's stretched out into a ridiculously long column of fluff with its slightly lopsided ears sticking up.

 

“Jesus, that’s a rabbit? It’s the size of a bloody dog!” is the first thing out of Louis’ mouth in a sort of awed whisper-scream. _Shit._ Now he’d gone and insulted a poor innocent rabbit.

 

“Heeeyyyy.”

 

Louis had expected to be faced with a cross stranger in an insult-the-pet, insult-the-owner kind of nonsensical situation, but looking up at the smile on Plaid Man’s face (god, those dimples again) Louis realizes that the man is still grinning, features relaxed and a look in his eyes that Louis can only describe as slightly playful.

 

He has to have a name other than Plaid Man, Louis thinks, a real name that's not based on his clothing. Louis figures he might as well ask, seeing as he’s already broken the ice (but thankfully no bones) in the act of bumping into him.

 

“Just out of curiosity, do you have a name? Mine’s Louis, if you, er, if you care to know,” he says lightly, smiling up at the man and consequently breaking his own train of thought. God, he’s pretty.

 

“I do care to know,” says the man. “I’m Harry. It’s very nice to meet you, Louis,” says Harry, breaking Louis out of his little reverie.

 

There's another pause while a train passes, which gives Louis just enough time to realize that Harry hasn’t taken his large, warm hand off of Louis's back yet. Louis looks up, planning to ask whether or not Harry is going to release him, but once again all thoughts come to a dead stop; Harry is incredibly, excruciatingly close to Louis’ face. Oh.

 

Another train pulls up just then, causing Harry’s hand to leave Louis’s back and travel up to rake through his curls instead.

 

“I’d better catch that, then,” Harry says, grinning hurriedly, “it was great to meet you, Louis!” He picks up the pet carrier and turns away, breaking into a run towards the train while Louis stares after him. It's only after he's gotten on the train that Louis even thinks of returning his friendly goodbyes.

 

Louis considers for a minute, standing in the cold once again with his phone miraculously still in his hand. After about ten seconds of this, he reckons he was maybe a bit too enamored with this beautiful stranger, shrugs off this fact, and continues up the stairs into the brisk October air.

 

***

 

 

Working at Marks & Spencer is less of a job and more of a personal heaven for Louis. He’s always loved soft, fluffy things; even (if not especially) when he was little, he’d always gravitate towards the softest thing in the room, which had often been his mother’s hair or the family cat (who was, quite thankfully, a patient creature). So when he found he’d aced his interview with the Line Manager, he may have screeched a bit. But only internally.

 

He still loves every bit of it. Even now, doing something as simple as restocking the towels, he still has to resist the urge to bury his face in the fluffy fabric. He turns around to grab the next towel from the pile when he feels a tap on the shoulder. Wheeling around in a panic, his brain is occupied only with the thought of his manager Paul catching him with his face in the towels again.

 

It's not Paul, though. Instead, it's a head full of shiny brown curls with a very autumn-looking scarf tied round it and a long, lithe body attached. No, this isn't Paul. This is worse, in a way. This is Harry. The same Harry that Louis saw at the station a few days ago. This is Harry, who wears a rather surprised look, as if he hadn't expected to find Louis Tomlinson anywhere other than a tube station, much less find him again in the first place. And this is a Louis Tomlinson who can't stop thinking about how lovely the man in front of him looks.

 

"Louis! It is Louis, yeah?" Harry says cheerily.

 

"Um. Yeah, Harry. Hi," Louis replies somewhat awkwardly before remembering his employee etiquette. "I, erm...can I help you with anything?" Louis curses himself inwardly for sounding like such an incompetent git, but Harry doesn’t seem to notice.

  
"Yeah, actually," he says, his voice vibrating in Louis' chest and filling his stomach with butterflies. "I was hoping you could help me find the pillows? And, um, some fairy lights, if it’s not too much trouble."   
  
Harry's requests give off an astoundingly domestic, slightly festive vibe that only worsens Louis' endearment towards him, which is already deepening by the minute (in fact, Louis has thought about him many more times than he admits to himself in the days that had passed). He imagines a cozy little apartment, perhaps with a soft couch or two and fairy lights strung up everywhere. He almost kicks himself when the scuff of Harry's shoe jerks him from his daydream.   
  
"Sorry. Right this way," he says, turning on his heel and walking quickly down the aisle. Unsurprisingly, he hears Harry's footsteps close behind him; Harry’s long legs, somewhat gangly yet strangely elegant, are slightly faster than Louis' shorter ones, no doubt. Then, much to Louis' fluttering dismay, Harry starts to talk.

  
"I hope it's alright to be saying this, but...um." He pauses, then continues just as they turn towards the section containing the pillows. "I saw you at the tube station the other day, yeah? And I was thinking that-"   
  
"Here we are," says Louis, bringing both their little promenade and conversation to a screeching halt in front of the pillows. Harry examines the pillows in front of him, then picks up a fluffy white one and turns to Louis, who stands there until Harry's action registers in his mind.

 

“On we go then,” Louis says as he turns again, heading towards the Christmas section, which is possibly one of his favorite places in the whole store and maybe even the whole world. Harry, walking beside him, looks like he'd had something to say but decided against it. Louis' stomach somersaults and he starts to worry that he's blown a chance he didn't even know he had, but just as his worries begin to spiral into a tornado of woe worthy of the best retelling, they reach their destination.  
  
The Christmas display this year, despite the fact that it's only October, is rather impressive, too, with lights strung on branches and wound delicately around the little trunks of the plastic trees. Louis, in an attempt to remain professional and not stare too long at this lighted modern masterpiece, makes the mistake of looking over and sees Harry looking up at the display with his head tilted back with his eyes wide, hands clasped behind his back, and corners of his mouth turned up, making his dimples appear again.   
  
"This is it, then," Louis says, tearing his gaze away from Harry's face and squatting to reach the boxes of lights that are stacked in neat little rows along the shelves. "Would you, er...would you like any particular color?"   
  
"Surprise me," comes Harry's voice from above Louis' head, and oh, Louis hadn't expected that. It's deep and rather soft and Louis' ears grow red. Looking up, he sees that Harry is, of course, smiling down at him, because whoever runs the universe is stark raving mad and clearly wants him to suffer. To his own surprise, he pulls a box of white icicle lights from the shelf and stands up, holding them out to Harry, not of his own conscious accord, it seems, but of some strange force inside himself that's determined not to make him look like as much of an idiot as he already feels.

 

“Here you are,” he says, a great breath whooshing out as he spoke. Oh, excellent fucking job, Tomlinson. Spot on.

 

“Thanks,” Harry says, and when Louis looks down at his shoes (because his face is nearly on fire now), he continues.

 

“No, really, you were, um. You were really helpful."

  
  


“Not a problem.” Louis glances up at Harry again and offers him a warm smile, his hands clasped behind his back. God, they're close. Again. Louis can’t help feeling like he's stuck in some sort of loop, a strange blip in time’s surface where he's always encountering Harry.

 

As Harry takes the package, his warm hand brushes against the tips of Louis's icy fingers. Louis draws in a quiet little breath, air filling his lungs with a sudden surge of oxygen that rushes to his brain.

 

"I'd better...I guess I'd better go, then," says Harry, taking a step backwards and waving awkwardly.

 

"Goodbye, Harry, have a lovely evening." Louis raises his own hand in a somewhat half-hearted wave as Harry and his long legs disappear, his outward composure significantly and surprisingly stronger than his thoughts.

 

Fate can only be so kind, he laments, turning back towards the towels.

  
  


***

  
  


Louis pulls at the scarf around his neck, loosening its itchy hold on him. He would have chosen a more comfortable one, of course, but Zayn had taken Louis’ most prized one, a long cream-colored fabric masterpiece, when he’d hurried out the door (much to Muffin the Cat's meowing despair) to meet Liam in time for their “stupid skating date”, as Louis had called it as he watched Zayn get ready.

 

This is the same exact stupid skating date that has forced Louis out of the house on Zayn’s orders to get more food for the beta he keeps on his desk. Louis is honestly a bit in awe of the creature; it's incredibly vain, maybe the only vain fish he’s ever seen in his life, always swimming towards the little mirror behind its bowl to stare at its reflection. Granted, it's rather pretty (for a fish), an irridescent purple with hints of blue-black on the tips of its fins. It's a perfect fit for Zayn, Louis thinks. Zayn has never really been a cat or a dog or a lizard or even a snake person, but when he'd seen this fish at the store he’d fallen in love with it almost as instantly as he’d fallen in love with Liam (or so Louis always teases him).

 

Ah, yes, Zayn. At least fishes don’t take scarves, Louis thinks as he reaches the store and shivers, pushing the door open. His grey woolen pea coat is decent but apparently not enough to block out the bitter November air. Little sleigh bells attached to the door jingle, welcoming him into the warm air of the shop. He heads towards the back of the store where he’s spotted the fish food, reaching it in just a few steps. He’s got much better things to do, he thinks grouchily, than to look at fish food brands. Watch Pride & Prejudice, for example. He has an excuse this time (as opposed to the other fifty times he’s watched it, but no matter). His professor had asked the class to re-write the opening scene from the film; consequently, Louis had almost jumped out of his seat.

 

Louis turns from the fish section and approaches the counter, looking down to assure himself that he’d actually grabbed the food instead of daydreaming about Matthew MacFadyen.

 

A strange, high-pitched gravelly voice stops him in his tracks, though, with a loud “Hyeallo!” and a squawk.

 

This startles Louis so much that he nearly drops the package of food. He recovers the package, composing himself as he does so.

 

He looks up and nearly drops the package again.

 

“Sorry about that. Sunny’s a bit loud,” Harry says, grinning and lifting a little green-and-yellow bird off of his shoulder. Because of course it's Harry, of course Louis would bump into him without his good scarf on.

 

“Harry,” Louis breathes, surprising himself again because he really isn’t sure whether or not he’d actually be able to speak. “Didn’t know you worked here.”

 

“Hi there, customer,” squawks the bird from his perch on Harry’s hand.

 

“Yeah.” Harry looks down at the counter before continuing. “I’m at studying to be a vet, have been since uni, so. I figured it’d be good experience working here.”

 

“You like it here, then,” Louis says after a pause in what he thinks is maybe the most feeble attempt at conversation he’s ever made.

 

“I do.” He looks at the counter again, and Louis freezes, thinking that those two words definitely shouldn’t have as much significance as they do.

 

“Oh. I should scan that for you, then,” Harry continues, gesturing to the package of food in Louis’ hands.

 

Harry lifts the bird into a cage behind him and reaches across the little counter that's littered with scuff marks to take the package that Louis hesitatingly hands him and oh. Harry’s warm, surprisingly soft fingers brush against Louis’ freezing ones as he takes the package and for a moment, Louis is forced to consider the consequences of not breathing. But then Harry’s hand is gone, leaving Louis more chilled than he’d been before and rather deflated. Harry though, Louis realizes, has been speaking, which Louis only realizes just now through the haze in his brain.

 

“...and I worked in a bakery once, so I’m used to working in places with, um, counters and things,” he finishes, putting the nearly-forgotten package of food into a little bag and plopping it on the counter. Louis reaches out and takes the bag from the counter, thanking Harry and hoping his ears aren’t as red as he thinks they are. He turns on his heel, shoving the bag into his coat pocket, cursing his inability to conceal the bloody redness that's creeping up his neck, and heading towards the door.

 

“Louis?” Harry’s voice suddenly fills the quiet little shop and Louis feels himself redden all over again.

 

“Yeah?” He turns to face Harry again.

 

“I was...would you--” he falters, fiddling with the cuff of his sweater -- “can I take you for a drink or something?”

 

This time, Louis actually does stop breathing, his heart thumping away in his chest and his stomach flopping like mad. When he finally breathes out again a few seconds later (out of pure necessity), his brain has begun to unfreeze and he nods slowly.

 

“Oh.” Harry looks immensely relieved. He stands there for a moment, rooted to the spot as if he's not quite sure what to do next.

 

“I’ll...I guess I'll close up for the night, then,” he says, shaking his head just the slightest bit as if he's shaking himself free of his own thoughts. Louis watches him take a tiny key out from under a pet supplies magazine, lock up various machines behind the counter, and remove his coat and a very soft-looking red woolen scarf from a stool behind him.

 

" 'm ready when you are." Harry's voice is muffled by the scarf, as he wraps it around his neck but Louis can still hear his smile through the scratchy fabric. Harry emerges from the folds of the scarf with a huge smile, dimples deepening like little craters on his rosy cheeks.

 

"Shall we go, then?" Louis asks, a smile breaking out on his face that he thinks might split his face in two. Without even thinking, he makes a tiny movement to reach for Harry's hand, but he quickly stops himself, shoving his hand into his pocket instead.

 

"After you." Harry nods as they reach the door. Louis pushes it open, letting in the cold night air.

 

Out in the crisp air, Louis takes a few calming (albeit very quiet and hopefully discreet) breaths while they walk. The lights of the buildings seem to sparkle, lending an exciting air to the evening.

 

"I thought," Harry says, shattering Louis' train of thought, "that maybe we could go to Scooters."

 

"To what?" Louis has never heard of the place.

 

"It's a little cafe I always go to, just around the corner," Harry explains, gesticulating rather wildly as he speaks. "It's very nice, a bit small, but I'm friends with the owner so sometimes I get a free sugar. Are you allergic to cats, though, by any chance?"

 

"No, got a cat at home, in fact," he says, holding up the sleeve of his coat, which carries a few cat hairs, "if you couldn't tell already."

 

Harry grins, dimples deepening in the way that Louis already loved. "That's a relief."

 

"Is it?" Louis questions, tilting his head. He wonders if it's one of those cat cafes where you drank your coffee surrounded by the furry little things. That sounds like it's be a wonderful...evening? Date? What is this? All he wants to know is what he's getting himself into.

 

"I've sort of become best mates with the resident cafe cat," Harry explains, "and sometimes I come in and he kind of...jumps on me. So you may want to, um, prepare yourself."

 

Louis nods just as they turn a corner onto a slightly quieter road. He's never been in this part of London before, minus the pet shop, and he's beginning to take a liking to its cozy, more relaxed air.

 

Harry taps his shoulder, nearly making him jump out of his skin.

 

"That's it," he says, pointing to a little window covered by a red-and-white striped awning. As they draw closer, Louis can see that the cafe is dimly lit with green lights and that there are a few plants inside, along with some old bicycles and...scooters? Oh. Scooters. That's where the name came from.

 

"Ready?" Harry asks, smiling eagerly.

 

"I'm all for it," Louis answers, giving what he hopes is an adventurous grin.

 

When Harry opens the door, the man at the counter gives a loud shout that startles Louis so much that he actually gives a little start.

 

"It's 'arry!" the barman yells gleefully, slinging a little cloth over his shoulder and coming out from behind the counter to give Harry a hug and a slap on the back. The man, despite Harry's height, is much bigger than Harry is, and for a moment Louis is afraid that Harry might be crushed. Harry returns the hug, however, with equal eager gladness, addressing the man as Jeff and slapping his back just as loudly, although maybe not as hard.

 

"An' who's this?" The man holds his arm out in Louis' direction. "Finally got yourself a date, then, 'ave you?" he chuckles.

 

Louis feels the redness creeping to his cheeks again and glances down at his toes. He feels a sudden weight and warmth around his shoulders, and when his eyes dare to dart back up from his feet, he sees that Harry has an arm slung around his shoulders. His breath catches in his chest for the third time that night.

 

"Suppose I have, haven't I?" Harry says.

 

Louis can see that his cheeks are flushed, too, and that his lips are quite soft and lovely up close, and--

 

"Our 'arry's got 'imself a date!" shouts the large man, pumping his fist above his head and consequently wiping any other thought from Louis' mind. A cheer goes up through the cafe, and suddenly Louis feels Harry take his hand and lift it high above his head as if they're two returning champions who've just conquered the most dangerous forces in the world. He throws out a wild prayer that his blush isn't as noticeable as he knows it is. Thankfully, the cheers die down as people return to their drinks and conversations, which lets Louis regain his composure and look around a bit more.

 

It's quite a charming lively little place. It’s rather dimly lit, giving it an exciting air, and there is what can only be described as an old-school espresso maker resting on the counter in front of a wall full of liquor that’s lit up with greenish-blue lights. Circular wooden tables covered in scratches from countless tea saucers spatter the floor, surrounded with metal stools with the seats painted as orange as the most vibrant clementine Louis has ever seen. Up against the walls, he can make out the dark green outlines of several large potted plants along with the scooters and bicycles he’d seen earlier, which are just the right amount of rusty that they look vintage.

 

And the cats. There are cats everywhere, sitting primly on the tables and counters, purring as various customers scratch at their ears, winding around bicycles and under tables. There appear to be about ten or so, each one with a different coloring and pattern, and when Louis feels a warm, light pressure against his shin, he isn’t at all surprised when he looks down and finds himself confronted with one of them. It’s a beautiful creature, a tiny little thing with rust-colored patches on his tiny white body and tiny paws. Louis crouches to stroke the little thing behind the ears.

 

“That’s Rusty.” Harry is beside him suddenly, long legs bent at absurd angles as he reaches to stroke the cat’s back. His tail wraps around Harry’s hand and he nuzzles against it, purring wildly. Harry picks him up.

 

"Would you like a drink?" he says, gesturing towards the counter with the hand that's not holding the cat.

 

"That'd be lovely, thank you." Louis looks up at him again. Harry's large hands practically dwarf little Rusty and Louis's heart expands, filling his chest with warmth. As he looks away towards the drink menu, which is written neatly in white chalk and hanging high up behind the counter, he feels a warm hand grasp his own and wonders whether he'll be able to recover his normal breathing pattern ever again.

 

Harry leads him to the counter by the hand, pulling him through tables full of conversing customers and stopping abruptly so that Louis, still carrying the momentum of being pulled, crashes into Harry's back. Harry lifts his shoulders, bringing his elbows up so that his arms hang at a comical angle. Louis peeks out from around Harry's back under one of his arms.

 

"Hi," he giggles, having stopped caring whether or not he’s blushing.

 

"Hi." The word falls from Harry's mouth, which is stretched wide in a grin that seems quite blinding to Louis, and he brings his arm down to rest on Louis' waist. Oh.

 

Just then, the barman turns around from the espresso machine.

 

"If it isn't lover boy 'imself," he exclaims, throwing up his hands in a friendly, teasing sort of gesture. "What'll you 'ave tonight, boys?"

 

"I'll have my usual, please, and..." He hesitates and turns to Louis, anxiousness written in the wrinkles that have appeared on his forehead. "How do you take your tea?"

 

"Regular black Yorkshire tea, no milk and no sugar, please," he says, matter-of-factly.

 

"There you have it then, boys, it'll be just a minute," says Jeff, turning around and busying himself with the orders.

 

Harry's "usual" turns out to be hot chocolate with whipped cream on top, because of course it is.

 

"I keep the whipped cream stocked just for him," Jeff tells Louis as he slides Harry's steaming mug across the counter. Louis lets out a little laugh and looks up at Harry, who's giggling furiously into his whipped cream.

 

"Stickin' around for long, boys?" Jeff asks when they've finished their drinks.

 

"Thank you, Jeff, but we'd better be off. I've got to feed Dusty," Harry replies, shaking his head and finding Louis' hand once more, which Louis doesn't think he'll ever get used to.

 

"Goodbye then, lads!" he calls after them as Harry pulls Louis back though the shop towards the entrance. Harry turns to give him a fleeting wave before the door closes behind them.

 

The street is even lovelier now, illuminated by the street lights and the glow of all the shop windows that line it. They stand outside of the cafe, looking at each other with their hands still intertwined. Louis basks in the light, turning his face up towards Harry's, which is silhouetted against a window.

 

"That was lovely, Harry," he says, his voice quiet and sincere. "I'm glad fate brought us together time after time in awkward situations," he continues with a dramatic flourish of his hand.

 

"It was my pleasure." Harry bows deeply and immediately almost falls over in his attempt from the combined effect of his giggles and the fact that the road is slick with black ice.

 

"Seriously, I really...it was really nice to be with you," he continues when he regains his balance.

 

"Thank you," says Louis, "I really enjoyed it. I, erm, I hope I'll see you soon." He reaches into his pocket, rummaging for a napkin he'd shoved in earlier. He pulls out the slightly-crumpled napkin and one of the numerous pens he keeps with him at all times and breathlessly scribbles his phone number on it, shoving it into Harry's hands. "Here," he hears himself say, "you might need this." He rocks back onto his heels, clasping his hands behind his back, unsure of what to do next.

 

But now Harry steps forwards and leans down and Louis can't catch his breath and Harry leans forward and kisses Louis on the cheek, a light little kiss that flutters against Louis' cheekbone and makes his heart hum. Without really thinking, Louis rocks up onto his tiptoes and his eyes flutter shut. He gives Harry's soft, warm cheek a little peck and murmurs a little goodbye. He finally turns and gives Harry one last hurried wave as he scurries towards the entrance to the tube. His cheeks are warm and flushed and he can smell Harry on his scarf the whole way home.

 

Zayn opens the door when Louis finally knocks.

 

"How long does it take to get fish food?" he smiles, giving Louis a teasing little punch to the arm. Louis produces the now-crumpled bag of fish food from his pocket and hands it to Zayn.

 

"I got a bit distracted," he says in what he hopes is a vague manner, taking off his coat and and tossing it on the chair.

 

He can tell that good old Zayn can see right through him. "You'd better tell me about this boy in the morning," he says, taking the fish food from the bag and placing it neatly on his desk. Louis tosses a ball of paper at him and goes upstairs, unwinding his scarf and making a mental note to feed Zayn's fish a little extra food as a thank-you.

  
  


***

  
  
  


It's raining again and Louis is thankful that at least this time he hasn't had to put any saucepans out to catch drips (yet). One thing he's not thankful for, though, is his talent for procrastination, which is what has him scribbling frantically while the rain pelts his window. Slightly crumpled papers litter his desk, surrounding what little writing space he has like a curious, ever-encroaching flock of seagulls. The desk lamp, one he's had as long as he can remember, is bent over his desk, casting a soft light onto the words he's scrawled. He's wearing his favorite sweater, a soft grey cable-knit that's about three sizes too big. He stops writing every few minutes to push up the sleeves where they've fallen over his hands, and although he has to deal with this and pushing his glasses up his nose occasionally, he's extremely proud of himself for being so productive.

 

His phone buzzes, breaking through the quiet and startling him. He reaches over to pick it up, abandoning his writing in favor of flipping his phone over to peer at the caller ID.

 

It’s Harry.

 

Even though he and Harry have gone on numerous dates since that November night at Scooters, his pulse still quickens when he answers and hears Harry's voice crackling through the phone.

 

"Harry, my lad, it's not polite to interrupt people while they're un-procrastinating," Louis quips.

 

"Oh, sorry." There’s a silence, filled with the static of the phone and the rain outside, and then, "I was going to ask you if...if you wanted to come watch a film or something, but I don't want to get in the way of your work or anything." Harry's voice is earnest, Louis can't detect a single trace of sarcasm in his words.

 

"Is your offer still, er, open, then?" asks Louis. He can hear the blood rushing through his ears. A film. At Harry's.

 

"Of course!" Louis can hear Harry's voice brighten, even through the phone, and he smiles to himself.

 

"I'll be there in no time, O Romantic One," Louis says, and hangs up.

 

He tosses his phone back onto his desk and makes a frantic dash for his favorite scarf and his coat. Once these essentials are donned, he takes a peek at himself in the mirror hanging in the hall, fixing his fringe with slightly desperate fingers and regarding his black skinny jeans and Vans with careful consideration. Finally, he gives a little satisfied hum, quite pleased with the way he's turned out, thank you very much. He turns and grabs his keys, his phone, and a piece of gum, which he slides into his pocket before stepping out of the flat and closing the door. Zayn's at work but he's got a key, so Louis isn't worried about him.

 

The taxi to Harry's is as uneventful as a taxi ride can possibly be; the only disturbances are the occasional honk and the muttered swears of the driver, which are practically staples of any form of transportation Louis has ever taken. When the driver finally pulls over next to Harry's flat, Louis pays the fare and thanks him hurriedly; he always makes it a point to thank people, especially people in public services, because he's pretty sure that if he did their job he'd combust.

 

The lobby of the building is almost silent, and when Louis' shoes squeak on the tile, he cringes at the noise as he makes his way towards the elevator. In the lift, too, it's fairly quiet. There's barely any noise except for a faint rendition of "Carol of the Bells" that's being played over the speakers, which ends just as he steps out of the lift on Harry's floor.

 

And there he is, standing in front of the door of his flat with his hands clasped behind his back and his hair tied up in a bun. His navy blue jumper hangs somewhat loosely on his frame and ends at the waistband of his black jeans, revealing a belt with a little metal rose as the clasp. Louis only has a moment to take him in, though, because as soon as Harry spots him he's hurrying towards Louis.

 

"Louis! I'm glad you could make it, love." Theres a huge smile on Harry's face as he wraps Louis in a warm hug. He smells slightly of cinnamon, Louis notices as he tucks himself into Harry's shoulder.

 

"Love...that's a new one. I like it," Louis says, looking up at Harry and giving him a little kiss on the jaw.

 

"'M glad. Would you say you...love it?" Harry's face lights up with amusement at his own joke and he giggles as he leans down to kiss Louis' nose, which makes Louis' heart melt.

 

"Shall we go in, then?" he says, feeling his eyes crinkle at the corners.

 

"After you, Lou." Harry giggles again, this time because of his little rhyme, and gives a deep bow, holding out his arm in a gesture for Louis to enter the flat.

 

Harry's apartment is rather small, but it's the most homey place Louis thinks he's ever seen. A soft grey cat, who he knows is Dusty (from Harry's various stories, of course), rubs against his legs as soon as he enters, letting out a few soft purrs of welcome. After giving Dusty a few greeting scratches behind the ears, he looks up and to his right. There's a snug little room with a light brown, fluffy carpet and a squishy couch which is almost the exact color that Louis likes his tea. There are some rather thick cream-colored drapes as well, framing the windows and softening the light from the streetlights. What strikes Louis about the room, though, is the huge structure (the words "cat palace" come to his mind) next to the window. And, of course, the giant rabbit sitting calmly in the middle of it, surveying the room with its large brown eyes. Another cat, a brown tabby with a one ragged ear, leaps from the window sill to greet Harry, who reaches down to scoop it up.   
  
"This is Gloves," Harry says, voice muffled by the soft fur of the cat as he kisses her between the ears. He he lifts up one of the cat's legs to show Louis little white paws, his large hands dwarfing the tiny cat. Louis reaches out to stroke the cat, scratching at her ears, his hand brushing up against Harry's.

 

"You never told me you had a small zoo in your flat," he says, prodding Harry's chest teasingly. "Is this many animals even legal?"

 

Harry just grins at him, letting Gloves leap from his arms, and motions for Louis to follow him down a little hallway and into a small kitchen with yellow walls that holds a tiny stove and refrigerator. They sit on either side of a counter that spans two little windows which look out onto the dimly-lit street below.

 

There's a little squawk from behind them, and Louis wheels around in surprise to see two blue-and-yellow lovebirds sitting on a perch in the corner. Because of course Harry has lovebirds.

 

"Oh," says Harry, with a sheepish look on his face. "This is Mango," he lifts the one with the larger patch of yellow on its head, "and he's Kiwi." Kiwi squawks from his corner again, and Louis watches as he leaps from his perch and flutters, in what is perhaps the least graceful manner in the world, to perch himself on Louis' shoulder.

 

"He likes you, Lou," Harry says, moving closer and lifting his arm to rest on Louis' shoulder right next to Kiwi. Mango waddles gracelessly down Harry's arm and onto Louis' shoulder, making a strange noise as she sidles up to Kiwi. Louis finds himself forgetting about the birds on his shoulder, though, when Harry places his hands on Louis' waist, pulling him closer so that when Louis looks up, their noses almost touch.

 

"Hi."

 

"Hi."

 

Harry's kiss is soft and sweet, fluttering against his lips like feathers. Louis' eyelids flutter shut as he returns the kiss, exploring Harry's plush lips with his tongue and placing his hands on Harry's chest. Harry pulls him closer and his kiss becomes more bruising, pressing against Louis' mouth and tugging at his heart.

 

Harry breaks the kiss suddenly, pulling back with his lips still wet and redder than ever.

 

"I've completely forgot, I must be the worst host in the world. Would you like some tea or something?" A worried expression brings his eyebrows together, but his hands are still draped round Louis' waist.

 

"Harold. That was quite possibly the most mood-killing sentence I've ever heard fall from those lips," Louis says, licking his own lips and smoothing his hands down Harry's chest, "but yes, I would indeed enjoy some tea."

 

Harry grins sheepishly and heads for the counter to grab the tea while Louis lifts the two birds off his shoulder and takes them back to their perch, one on each hand. "I feel like Mary Poppins," he says, setting them down. He hears Harry giggle as he sets the kettle down. It's quite a lovely sound, really, somewhere between a boyish laugh and a chuckle. Louis stands there propped against the counter, tilting his head to the side to better watch Harry as he puts the kettle on.

 

"What are men compared to rocks and mountains?" Louis says, looking out the window at the backs of the buildings.

 

"A bit of Jane Austen always helps, doesn't it?" Harry turns to him and tips an imaginary tophat.

 

Louis raises his eyebrows in surprise; people don't usually recognize Austen's genius. "I see you've detected Mary Bennet's melancholy, sarcastic air."

 

Harry gives a little hum of assent. "Read it when I was younger and I practically fell immediately in love," he says.

 

"I've one question for you, then," says Louis, "which could make or break you." He tries to keep a straight face as he lifts his hand and places it lightly on Harry's arm. "1995 version or 2005?"

 

"Definitely 2005. Brenda Blethyn was practically my second mother from 2005 onward and Matthew MacFadyen..." Harry trails off and his lips form a little "o" as he lets out a low, quiet whistle.

 

"Congratulations, Harold, you've passed the inspection." Louis gives Harry's arm a little pat just as the kettle begins to whistle.

 

"What a relief," Harry sighs dramatically before turning off the kettle, and Louis has the urge to either slap him or kiss him or both.

 

When the tea is finally ready, Harry hands Louis a steaming mug (on which "I ♡ NYC" is printed in huge, blocky letters) and and leads him back into the room with the cat palace. Louis wraps his hands around the mug, pulling his hands inside the sleeves of his sweater, and notices a little television across from the couch. Harry's put down his tea and is rummaging through a little drawer next to the couch, muttering softly about "...here somewhere, I know it is." Louis sidles closer and is about to lay his hand on Harry's back and tell him that it was perfectly alright if they just sat there and talked, but he's interrupted by a loud "AHA!"

 

Harry stands up, grinning triumphantly and clutching none other than the Pride and Prejudice DVD. Louis watches, grinning as Harry kneels to slide the disc into the little tray of the player and flips on the screen. The soaring music of the menu scene fills the room as Harry retreats to the couch and pats the space beside him, motioning for Louis to sit down and simultaneously pressing the play button.

 

On the TV, the screen fades in from black to the slow sunrise that's so familiar to Louis while the gentle music washes over the room. Just as Lizzie closes her book (which he knows is an actual copy of Pride and Prejudice itself, opened to the last pages), he feels Harry's warmth leave his side. He takes his eyes off the screen and looks around the room. He finds Harry near the cat palace, in the act of lifting Flour from her perch on top of the thing and watches as Harry brings her back with him and sits down again. The bunny snuffles curiously at the hand Louis holds out and then, stretching out her little paws, hops delicately into Louis' lap. The room is dim, but Louis can see Harry grinning at him.

 

"My pets all like you better than me, it seems," he mock-pouts.

 

"Be careful," Louis says, trying to keep serious but unable to keep the fondness off his face, "if you stick that lip out any more I'm going to have to kiss you."

 

Harry breathes out a little laugh and leans closer to Louis, looking down at him expectantly. "Well? Aren't you going to kiss me?" he says, batting his eyelashes and sticking his lip out even further. Louis arches up and presses his lips against Harry's just as Kitty and Lydia come racing down the stairs, biting down lightly on Harry's lower lip just as the girl's gather at the door to Mr. Bennet's study. He pulls away when the daughters begin to whisper, shushing Harry when he protests.

 

"This is one of the best parts of the entire film," he says, giving the corner of Harry's lips one last peck. "Watch Mr. Bennet's eyebrows."

 

They both watch attentively from then on. The only interruptions are the soft thump of Flour landing on the floor and the fact that Dusty is not a graceful leaper and lands rather heavily on Harry just as Darcy and Bingley are practicing Bingley's proposal. Other than that, it's fairly peaceful until Louis feels a soft kiss on the top of his head that mirrors almost exactly the one Darcy's just given Elizabeth. Warmth glows in Louis' stomach and he snuggles closer to Harry, propping his chin on Harry's shoulder.

 

"You've bewitched me body and soul," mumbles Harry, leaning down to touch his nose to Louis's.

 

"And I love, I love, I love you," Louis whispers, finishing the quote and tilting his head up to press his lips against Harry's once again. He feels Harry's hands, warm and firm at the small of his back, pulling him close and reminding him of that day at the tube station. He pulls away to fold himself into Harry's lap, pressing his palm against Harry's heart as he plunges into another kiss. He can feel the swift but steady thump-thump-thump of Harry's heart and he takes a deep breath through his nose, deepening the kiss and exhaling complete adoration.

 

The film has ended by now and the screen is blank, casting a blue-black light on Harry's face, but even in the darkness Louis can see that his pupils are blown wide. He slides his arms around Louis again and Louis feels his bruising kiss crash against his lips once again as he pulls Louis to his feet.

 

"Bedroom?" Harry says, voice gravelly and deep and wanting. Louis nods, letting Harry take him by the wrist and lead him into the hallway and towards the doorway of a room he hadn't noticed when he came in. Before they reach the door, though, Louis feels Harry's hands on his waist and takes in a sharp breath. Harry presses himself against Louis, grinding their hips together against the wall and causing a quiet moan to escape Louis's lips. He pushes back against Harry, his cock already hard in his too-tight jeans, until Harry moans into his mouth and drags him into the bedroom.

 

Louis' mind is already foggy with longing, so much so that getting off his pants is a blur, and when Harry's hands find his waist again he's more than happy to collapse onto the bed, right under Harry.

 

"Fuck," he breathes, blighting his lip. Harry really is a sight. Harry's whole body is littered with tattoos which Louis has caught glimpses of before but never really fully seen. His hair is falling out of his bun in the places where Louis has pulled on it, and the dim light from the street lamps outside illuminates the left side of his face before he ducks down to mouth teasingly at Louis' cock.

 

Louis thrusts into Harry's mouth, his already-hard cock throbbing. Harry begins to suck in earnest now, looking up at Louis with blown pupils as his soft lips glide up and down Louis' cock. Louis feels Harry’s teeth pull at him, dragging along the length of his cock and making him tighten his clutch on the sheets. He reaches forward almost blindly to grasp at Harry’s hair, pulling it out of the bun, which only makes Harry pick up his rhythm. Louis can feel his climax coming closer, but holds out long enough to gasp, "Such a pretty sight you are, Haz," before he throws his head back as the orgasm hits him. He can feel Harry swallow around him, smooth lips brushing the tip of his cock and wide eyes still fixed on Louis’s face as he shudders through it.

 

"Fuck me, Harry," Louis whispers shakily. "I want you to fuck me hard."

 

"Yes," Harry says, grinding his hips down against Louis' again, "a thousand times yes."

 

The only thing Louis can think of is that Harry's just quoted Jane Bennet again. That is, until Harry's thrusting two lube-coated fingers into his arse, making him let out a loud moan. He grips the sheet beneath him, holding on for dear life while Harry scissors his fingers, hitting his prostate.

 

"Want you inside of me," he breathes. "Want you to fuck me good and hard." He can feel his cock begin to leak against his stomach and he bucks his hips against Harry's hand. Harry moans, ducking his head down to bite at Louis' hips, but he obliges, rolling on a condom and teasing at Louis' hole before sliding in. Louis lets out a little yell as he feels Harry slide inside of him, panting as Harry's thrusts fall into a steady rhythm.

 

"Lou, you're so tight," Harry whispers, his breath hot against Louis' neck.

 

"You're gonna come for me, aren't you? Gonna come inside of me," Louis says, voice rough even in his own ears. He turns his head to suck into the soft skin at Harry's collarbone, making Harry gasp.

 

"Lou," he grunts, "gonna--"

 

Harry comes with a loud gasp that's muffled in Louis' shoulder, shuddering through his orgasm as Louis presses kisses along his jaw.

 

"Fuck, Lou," he says when he finishes, peeling off the condom and flopping down next to Louis. "That was...you're amazing."

 

Louis can only roll onto his side, already slipping into that post-coital haze, and place his palm on Harry's cheek. Louis guides him into a soft kiss, which Harry returns with equal bliss before flipping himself over.

 

"Little spoon," he mumbles, and that's all the explanation Louis needs to wrap his arms around Harry and bring his legs up behind Harry's knees. He rests his hand on Harry's tummy, feeling his breathing even out as they fall asleep.

  
  


***

  
  


It's snowing. Louis can tell because the wind is howling like mad outside, but not with its usual ferocity. Louis groggily turns over, burrowing further into his blankets before checking his phone. 10:30. Louis is rather impressed, this kind of snowstorm is usually the type to wake him up at night and be gone by morning, but when he rolls out of bed and pushed aside the drapes, he sees that this one is still going on in all its soft white glory. The buildings are coated with a rather thick layer of snow and the streets are lined with white, hushig the tires of the cars that roll slowly by.

 

Louis pulls the drapes wide, revelling in the sight. He's always loved snow, always loved the excitement that came with it about the Christmas season, the lights, the presents, the holiday parties, and especially the tree. He and Zayn had gone out to get one a few weeks ago and brought it home, where Liam had agreed to help put it up and decorate it, most likely out of pure puppy love for Zayn (which Louis teased them both about mercilessly, although Liam was most certainly one of those people who could do kind things for days on end without sleep nor food nor even tea). Liam had also helped to put up the lights, his extra few centimeters on Zayn giving him the ability to reach into corners where no man had gone before (as Louis had always busied himself with lights elsewhere) and several meters of white fairy lights now twinkle merrily all around the small flat, including the space above the bed.

 

Louis shivers and turns away from the window. It's cold enough that only his sleep shirt and boxers will never do, so he busies himself with rummaging through his dresser for warmer clothes. He eventually finds a pair black jeans (one of the innumerable pairs he owns; between him and Zayn, the laundry probably contains a minimum of 5 pairs each week) and shuffles towards his closet. He's in the middle of donning a soft white jumper with a pattern of little blue snowflakes when he hears his phone go off, alerting him that he's got a text. He quickly pulls on the jumper and flings himself across his bed to pick up his phone and open the message.

 

It's Harry.

 

_first snow!! :)) xx_

 

Louis taps out his own message and presses send.

 

**_officially christmas time now love xxx_ **

 

_do you have a tree? xx_

 

_**yeah why? xx** _

 

_i don't have one :((_

 

_**we'll have to fix that right away, harold. that's next to illegal in my book :/ xxx** _

 

_come with me lou? please. xx_

 

Louis pauses to drop his head and grin furiously into the pillow, then picks up his phone again.

 

**_only if i can kiss you a lot and help you put up fairy lights xxx_ **

 

_fair enough ;)) my place in 10mins? xx_

 

**_a thousand times yes :)) see you then . xxx_ **

 

Louis yanks his phone from the charger and shoves it into his pocket as he searches frantically for his boots. When he finds them he pulls them on, hopping on one foot out of his bedroom and down the little flight of stairs into the front room of the flat. Zayn's still asleep, of course; he never wakes up before 11 am unless he absolutely has to, so Louis pulls on his coat and grabs his now-returned favorite scarf in relative silence before heading out the door.

 

He decides to take a cab to Harry's flat again, digging through his pocket and cursing the fact that he has so little spare change on him, but the driver is surprisingly and miraculously patient, and when he hands over the change, the driver must read the incredulous expression on his face, because he shrugs and says, "Christmas season, after all. 'Ave a good one." Louis thanks him multiple times before heading up the snow-covered stairs to the building.

 

When he reaches Harry's flat, he raps briskly at the door and then steps back to wait. Presently, he hears hurried footsteps on the other side of the door and it swings open, revealing a thoroughly-bundled Harry. His hair is down under a large beanie that Louis notices is about the same color as his eyes, and his hair hangs down under it. There’s a cream-colored scarf hanging loosely round his neck, softening the contours of his face, and he’s in the midst of tugging on a long black peacoat over his dark skinny jeans.

 

Louis watches him with a fond expression that he can tell is seeping through every pore in his skin as Harry buttons his coat and leans forward to give Louis a peck on the lips.

 

“Ready?” Harry’s are lit up with almost childish excitement as he takes Louis’ hand and closes the door.

 

“Ready,” Louis grins up at him, feeling his heart aglow. He feels like a gigantic sap, but Harry’s touch warms his whole being.

 

On the way down the stairs, Louis suggests the Christmas Forest place on Kensal Green (which is where he got his tree from), and Harry nods enthusiastically, so that’s where they go. The ride to the Green is fairly quiet; the only other person in the carriage on the tube is a little old lady who looks to be asleep, and Louis takes this opportunity to lay his head on Harry’s shoulder as they roll along and feels Harry press a gentle kiss to his head in return. It’s a sweet little moment, Louis thinks as they’re serenaded with the steady clack and hum of the train and the soft snores of the old lady. When their stop approaches, Louis un-slumps himself and pulls himself up, catching hold of Harry’s hand.

 

There’s a little walk to the place, but it’s not far and it’s still snowing, which makes it that much more bearable and enables Harry to catch a few snowflakes on his tongue, which makes Louis giggle. The snow blankets the green as the little cluster of trees comes into sight, and Harry clutches Louis’ hand tighter, almost pulling him towards them.

 

“Spied one, haven’t you, Harold?” Louis laughs as Harry throws his arms around a stout little tree at the end of one of the rows. Harry nods, holding the tree closer and batting his eyelashes at Louis, who sidles closer and leans up to kiss Harry’s cold, red nose.

 

“Lets ‘ave it then,” he says, grabbing Harry’s hand again.

 

The purchase of the tree goes fairly well, and so (rather surprisingly) does transporting it back to Harry’s flat. Getting it through the door to the flat, however, is a different story altogether. It had sat fairly cooperatively between Louis and Harry in the lift, but its festive girth was too large to fit comfortably through the door to Harry’s flat. After a small struggle (which includes both pulling and pushing), Harry manages to pull it through the doorway, landing flat on his back in the process, which only draws more kisses from Louis.

 

Finally, the tree is put in the corner next to the couch, sitting defeatedly in its stand as Harry rummages through a closet for ornaments and fairy lights while Louis flips on the little radio on the windowsill and the Frank Sinatra rendition of “Let It Snow” fills the room. When Harry emerges, Louis whisks the box of ornaments and a string of lights away from him, claiming his rights to decorating the tree. Harry plants a warm kiss on Louis’ lips and then busies himself with hanging the lights all round the room.

 

_"I really can't stay..."_

 

The first chords of "Baby It's Cold Outside" fill Louis' ears.

 

"The answer is no...this evening has been so nice and warm," he sings softly against Dean Martin's baritone. Across the room, he hears Harry sing, "Look out the window at that storm," and he turns from the tree to dance towards Harry.

 

_"...there's bound to be talk tom--"_

_"Think of my lifelong sor--"_

_"At least there will be plenty impl--"_

_"If you caught pneumonia and di--"_

_"I really can't--"_

_"Get over that old doubt--"_

 

"Baby it's colllllld," they both belt out, "baby it's cold outsiiiiiiiiide!!" They both collapse on each other and Louis giggles so hard he turns quite pink.

  
  


***

  
  


"Louis, Louis!"

 

Louis groans as he shoves his head under his pillow. He's at his mum's for Christmas Day, he knows that much. Which means that the twins are there as well. Yelling for him. He rolls over, nestling further into Harry's warmth--

 

Harry.

 

"Fuck," he swears quietly, shaking Harry's shoulder. "Harry, the twins."

 

"Whassit?" Harry's voice is rough with sleep and Louis so doesn't want to wake him, but his sisters are still only eleven, so he shakes Harry again.

 

"My sisters are coming in," he says. Harry swears softly and heaves himself onto the floor, a few strands of hair hanging loosely from his bun and the collar of his loose sleep shirt stretched over his shoulder. Louis throws a blanket on him with a quick and quiet promise that he'd make it up to him later, and then pulls a blanket over himself and pretends to be asleep just in time.

 

Daisy bursts through the door and jumps onto his bed, followed closely by Phoebe.

 

"Louis, wake up! Mummy's making Christmas pancakes!"

 

Louis feigns grouchiness, burrowing into his pillow again, but quickly sits up as Daisy bounces treacherously close to his crotch.

 

"Mind the jewels, Daisy!" he yells playfully, grabbing her by the waist and hoisting her into the air, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Harry is sitting up and rubbing his eyes groggily and that Phoebe has slid off the bed in favor of shaking Harry’s shoulder as well. Harry lets himself be shaken and grins up at Louis, who almost drops Daisy.

 

“C’mon, boys!” Phoebe yells, getting up again and grabbing Daisy’s hand, pulling her off the bed and out the door. “You’ll miss all the pancakes!”

 

Louis looks down at Harry from his perch on the now-rumpled bed. Harry closes his eyes and a slow smile creeps onto his face, which only makes Louis want to pull him right back into the bed. Instead, he swings his legs over the side of the mattress and begins pulling on his jeans and a soft white sweatshirt. Feeling Harry’s eyes on him, he turns his head.

 

“What?”

 

“You.”

 

Louis grins fondly, feeling his cheeks flush. “You sap,” he says. “Come on and get dressed, you really can’t miss Mum’s pancakes.”

 

When they finally get downstairs, all the girls (and Ernie) are there already. Daisy and Phoebe are devouring their pancakes, Fizzy is shuffling down the hallway in the direction of the shower, Lottie is sitting on one of the stools, yawning and tapping out something on her phone, and Jay is still at the stove with two bowls by her arm, one with pancake batter that’s dyed red and one with pancake batter that’s dyed green. Louis comes up behind her and puts his hands on her shoulders.

 

“Oh, boys, you’re up!” she exclaims, turning around and still somehow managing to not drip batter on the floor.

 

“Morning mum,” Louis replies. Doris and Ernie are sitting in their high chairs being surprisingly quiet, and when Louis turns around, he can see that they’re both fascinated by playing with the colored pancakes. Louis takes a green pancake from the plate next to Jay, sitting down at the table and motioning for Harry to do the same. Harry is almost sickeningly polite to Louis’ mum, thanking her upwards of three times for doing all this (which she tries to assure him is just part of being a mum, but to no avail, apparently, because Harry thanks her twice more after that) and Louis can barely contain himself. He pecks Harry’s cheek when he sits down.

 

“What was that? Not that I don’t appreciate it, of course, but--”

 

“You.”

 

Harry grins and Louis has to busy himself with buttering his pancake rather violently to keep himself from lunging at him and kissing him on the lips in front of his entire family.

 

After breakfast, everyone gathers around the tree to open gifts. Louis has given each of his sisters a delicate silver bracelet and his mum a necklace with a little gold heart on it (“Because,” he says, “you’ve certainly got a heart of gold.” This earns him at least a hug, and if he feels a few sniffles against his shoulder, he doesn’t tell anyone). He himself receives a pair of lovely, very warm sky-blue mittens from his mum and a scarf and a pair of Vans from the others. Harry, it turns out, gets a pair of dark green mittens (which have the twins excitedly shouting about how they did “matching” pairs; “Each of you’s got your eye color on your hands!”) from them all, which he gratefully accepts, thanking everyone profusely.

 

The rest of the day passes much as Louis had expected, with a lovely Christmas luncheon and a subsequent nap period, followed by general lounging. As the evening creeps on, bringing the darkness with it, Louis notices Harry get up off the couch. He looks up, not quite knowing what to do or expect, but Harry motions for Louis to follow him out onto the front porch.

 

"Its freezing out here, Haz," Louis whines, pressing his face into Harry's warm chest. "Why're we...what's happening? Have you come to tell me that my family makes me look ridiculous and that you don't see fit for your friend to marry my sister?"

 

Harry laughs softly. "No, I'm no Fitzwilliam Darcy. I've...I'm...here." He reaches into his pocket and brings out a little box tied with a little bow, pressing it into Louis' hand.

 

"What's this?" Louis raises his eyebrows in surprise. Harry'd already given him a birthday present (a dark red woolen jumper) and they'd already given each other Christmas gifts (a belt with a coil of rope as the buckle for Harry and a set of teacups with the outline of Pemberley Estate on them for Louis).

 

"Just open it." Harry clasps his hands behind his back as Louis gently unties the little ribbon and opens the box. Lifting the lid, he can make out a little circular pendant with something written in it. He squints, bringing it closer to his eyes to read the tiny print.

 

_"You must know, surely you must know, it was all for you."_

 

Louis flings his arms around Harry's neck, unable to voice just how much this means to him. He feels the press of Harry's warm hands on his waist and they stand there for a while, completely immersed in each other, until Louis pulls back.

 

"You're the best birthday present I've ever gotten, you know that?" he says, tucking a loose strand of Harry's hair behind his ear, unable to believe how lucky he is to have Harry in his life.

 

"I'm...I love you, Lou." Harry's words are sincere and the smile playing on his lips tugs at Louis' heart.

 

"Now kiss me, you fool."

 

 

 

 


End file.
